


time crushes stone ~ phan

by tylerskye



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Strong Language, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tylerskye/pseuds/tylerskye
Summary: Dan Howell has had enough of the world. He’s had a crappy life, full of depression, anxiety, abuse, and bullying. He’s had enough of all of it. He wants to join the warrior stars that fight each night in the velvety black sky, but Phil Lester has other thoughts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more mature story, I think, maybe don’t read it if you’re triggered by the above things. Or if you’re twelve. I’m fairly proud of this, I hope you like it. :(

Stones weigh us down. Make us sad; unhappy; depressed.  
Time crushes stone.

+

Dan Howell had had enough. He’d had enough of stones, enough of being blatantly obvious about his depression and still no one caring, enough of the voices, enough of meds, enough of parents and yelling and homophobic siblings and being a disappointment and hitting and…

Dan Howell had had enough.

+

It happened on a Tuesday night.

Dan’s brother, Samuel, was out with friends. Mum and Dad were sorting through the basement to find some sort of special heirloom to post on Facebook.

No one cared about Dan. No one cared about the loser in the back of the class, with the weird hair and strange music taste. No one cared about the tall, feminine boy who didn’t participate in class yet still managed to get straight A’s. It was never enough. Never enough for the yelling, the hitting to stop. Never enough to be liked, accepted, trusted, loved. Never enough, never enough.

Dan Howell found himself walking to his closet. To his closet, where he kept clothes, memories, belts, long pieces of rope. How did he find himself here? No one cared.

His fingers extended to reach for the piece of rope the six-foot sixteen-year-old had hidden at the top of his closet. The closet was where the hitting happened. The closet was where he hid when the hitting happened.

Dan faltered.

Did he want to do this? _Yes._ Should he? _No._

_Shut up, shut up, shut up._

He frowned. What was the point in anything? In living? In getting a job? Going to school? There was none. Just constructs made up by modern society. But, boy, were they depressing.

Dan reached up again, this time more insistently. 

_Someone out there loves you. Someone can help you help yourself. Someone can help make the stones go away._

“No, there’s not,” Dan said aloud, accidentally.

Dan grasped the long, thick piece of rope and looped it ‘round his arm three times. 

It was coarse and unforgiving in his grasp, but it was encouraging in a way.

A single tear slipped out of his left eye. He nodded, reassuring himself.

_For my own good, own good._

Dan had always wanted to go in style. That had always been the plan. Like something out of a movie.

That’s how he found himself dressing himself in a tuxedo. A black and white tuxedo, with a white-speckled navy blue bow tie.

Dan loved the stars.

He loved how the stars fought to shine, each night. And each night, he mourned how he could not fight just like them. Soon, he would fight alongside them.

It was 23:06. The sun had long set, and the warrior stars had come out to play. He would join them tonight.

 

Dan walked down the drive to his parent’s grey BMW, a rope on his arm and a tuxedo on his person.

It would be by the cliff.

He eyed the envelope sitting in the passenger’s seat to his right. He had to make a couple stops before he could join the stars.

 

The first would be to deliver the letter.

PJ knew about the stones inside Dan’s chest, about how they pushed him down, never let him get back up. PJ knew, but he didn’t try to do anything about it. Nevertheless, PJ was Dan’s best friend… if you could call it that.

The letter was for PJ.

 

The second was a hug for Louise. Louise and Dan weren’t exactly friends—more acquaintances. But Louise could make Dan’s lips twitch into a small smile on the darkest of days.

So, the hug was for Louise.

 

The third was to go to the beach. The beach would be where it happened. 

The stars would reflect off the waves, making them melt and dance. The waves would wash away Dan’s pain. 

The stars and the waves would be the last thing Dan saw. After that, it would be galaxies and light. A nice image. He closed his eyes blissfully as he sat in the driver’s seat, hand on the steering wheel and stomach in his feet.

Why did the world hate him? All he had done in this life time was be nice to everyone. He had been a good child, through his verbally abusive mum and dad, homophobic sibling, bullying at school, through everything. He had been so insistent and forgiving.

But something snapped.

Dan started thinking things in the middle of the night, when cars passed his window every now and then, when the warrior stars shone into his bedroom, when all was quiet.

Dan thought dangerous thoughts.

_And the windowsill looks really nice, right?_

But, still, Dan pushed and pushed, until he could push no longer. Then he started to pull.

He wanted the pain, the suffering. He deserved it. What a monster he was!

Dan shook his head and clicked the ‘start’ button on the car’s dashboard.

_Nostalgia is for the weak._

He pulled out of the drive, and onto the motorway. Out of the windshield, Dan could see the warrior stars fighting with the clouds.

_Please don’t let there be clouds._

Clouds would ruin everything. It would still be done, but not as peacefully.

Dan checked his fringe in the reflection of the windshield. Absentmindedly, his right hand ran over the cut on his lip, where Colby had socked him.

 

_“What’re you gonna do, gay lord?” Colby sneered. “Run home to mummy, so she can yell at you for how worthless and disgusting you are? You really should listen to her.”_

_Another punch._

_Colby laughed, the raspy exhalation filling the corridor with uneasiness._

_Something in Dan made him want to punch Colby back, pin him on the ground, and just have at him. But he couldn’t._

_“Aw, don’t cry!” Colby pouted, feigning pity._

_Colby punched him again, this one to the lip. Dan felt the skin split, and reached a hand upwards._

_His fingers touched a wet substance and stained red within seconds. Dan was fuming, but he said nothing._

_Colby and his friends ran off behind some lockers as a teacher came by. A horrified look played on her face as she caught sight of Dan._

_Dan just stood there, feeling numb. He deserved it._

 

His left hand was kept on the steering wheel, thumbing the fake leather, forefinger tapping along to the song on the radio.

_Cut me farther, than I’ve ever been._

It was a love song, by twenty one pilots. A glorious tribute to how painful love can be, both emotionally and physically.

Dan sighed again. He just needed to get to the post office, then see Louise…

_Why don’t you just get it over with, you useless scum of the earth?_

“Friends,” he replied, to no one in particular.

 

He arrived at the post office, finally, and deposited the letter.

The post office worker looked at him with a knowing glance, and continued with her work.

_See? No one cares!_

 

Louise cried when he embraced her.

She knew what was about to happen. She went with him to the mall, looking for tuxes. She just never thought he would actually use it.

The tux had cost £3200, and Dan had almost forgotten to take the tag off.

Louise reluctantly let him go, her face red and blotchy. She blew him one final kiss, and Dan pretended to catch it. They shared a small smile, and Dan got back into the car.

On the way to the beach, Dan Howell wondered what his parents would do.

_Nothing. Because they don’t care._

Dan Howell had two voices, just like most people. The Angel and the Devil. Except, the Devil was around more often than not, the Angel rarely showed. Sometimes, it was comforting just knowing the Angel might be there.

It was on a night like this he wished the Angel would show. A bright light in a sea of darkness. That would be nice.

 

He reached the beach and swung the car door open.

_Fucking finally. Get me out of the goddamn wasteland that is your mind._

“I have to get myself out of it, first,” Dan mumbled, to no one but the cool breeze that lifted his fringe from his forehead slightly. He patted it down.

He went ‘round to the passenger’s side and grabbed the rope and a second envelope he had written in study hall. He had told the teachers it was for a writing assignment. They looked at him with pity.

 

Dan Howell walked down the beach with a spring in his step.

_I’ll finally be free._

After so many years, a lifetime of hurt, he would finally have some peace. His mind would rest, the voices would stop; all would be well.

He kept walking down the beach, in his expensive tux and star-spangled Converse, until he reached a small overhang that looked a bit like a tunnel from the right angle.

_Here._

 

+

 

Phil Lester didn’t know what was going on.

He was dragged along by a group of friends to a rocky beach along the coast of Brighton. 

Phil, Chris, Martyn, and Bryony trailed their feet in the water. They hiked their pants up so they wouldn’t get wet. The ocean was cold and briny, Phil could feel the salt on his skin.

Martyn laughed about something Chris had said, and Bryony told a funny anecdote that she remembered because the joke had reminded her.

The stars were shining, clouds covered the waning moon, the waves washed up gently against the shore, the sand gave way beneath their bare feet. All was well.

Until Phil heard sobbing from a small alcove nearer land.

He glanced at his friends (and brother). They wouldn’t mind if he slipped away for a few moments. Surely.

Phil filled with worry as he drew nearer to the indent. He pulled out his phone and switched on the flashlight.

In the darkest corner of the alcove was what looked like a small tunnel, about four feet wide, five feet in length, and about ten feet tall. The sobbing was coming from inside. 

Phil braced himself. He wasn’t good with criers. 

He peered inside the dank little tunnel. 

 

+

 

Chris heard Phil’s scream first. Clear as day. 

“Martyn, you know your brother better than I do. You go get him,” Chris instructed. 

The 18-year-old sighed and followed the sound of Phil screaming for help to where he stood.

Below a (nearly) dead body.

The six-foot tall teenager in a tux was pale, and looked as though he was asphyxiated. Salty tears ran down the suicidal boy’s cheeks, his mouth hung slightly open. His hands were raw; had he regretted his decision?

“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there! He’s dying!“ Martyn screamed.

 

+

 

Phil jumped at the sheer volume of his brother’s cry. He quickly jumped into action, pulling a pocket knife from, well, his pocket, and started sawing the rope. 

Chris and Bryony came running, and stood, shocked, to see that Phil had cut down a man who was, in fact, nearly dead. 

Phil looked at him with sorrowful eyes. 

The boy was pale (obviously). His hair was brown like rich chocolate cake, his eyes a shade lighter. Freckles dotted his face, and Phil, very faintly, heard the small rise and fall of his chest. 

He was alive.

 

+

 

_No no no no no. This is not how it’s supposed to go._

Dan could feel the dried tears on his cheeks. He felt disgusting. He should’ve done it a day sooner.

_Bloody idiot. You ruined whatever fucking chance you had. Fucking imbecile. You think you’re the only one who wants you gone? Think again, you asshole. I want outta here, too. As does Mr. Halo over here._

_Bugger off, Satan._

The stones in his chest were extra heavy. They didn’t feel like stones. They felt like boulders.

_Not how it’s supposed to go._

Dan chest hurt. It hurt to breathe, hurt to think, hurt to live.

_I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath._

Those were Dan’s last thoughts before the doctors at A&E put him under.


End file.
